“How did you come to be who you are even when nothing seems to be going your way? Are you ever afraid you’ll slip up and fall?”

“No, I know I’ll fall at some point but no matter how far I fall I’ll never fall into the person I was before. That place he called home I tore apart, it doesn’t exist any more.

“It became the rubble of my rock bottom, laying flat beneath the foundation to who I’ve become today.”

It’d be easy to see me and think, “He,

can’t be…can he?

…closer to perfect than me?”

Firstly,

dear friend,

perfection is silly;

why willingly set ourselves up to

fall at every moment possible?

Thinking the only way to be humane

is to become mechanical; in all ways unstoppable.

Needing to achieve perfection is problematic

thinking “No” is the automatic response

that makes it true;

why not celebrate equally everything we haven’t

as much as everything we do?

 

I mean celebrate what we couldn’t know

once we learn it; know that we didn’t see it before

because we were meant to earn it.

Or celebrate what we thought we knew

after finding out it wasn’t true;

we have to make and learn from mistakes,

in order to understand the depth of what we

go through.

 

Progress dear friend,

that from here out will be the

undying trend,

as we blend, mend

what was once unimaginable;

unfathomable,

intangible

based on the premise of

discriminating principle…

Invisibly “indivisible”,

denial crucial…dangerously critical

in the habitual ritual

calculating suppression

would pass as equal;

like it’s universal matter of fact

when really

it’s a matter of fecal.

 

It’s been said since I stand

for more than a false pledge

I’m evil;

how can that be if

I’ve truly always been

about the people?

 

I let love live;

lovin livin,

livin lovin

do it like it’s nothin

because there’s too much

of nothing

posing as something;

if it’s not one thing

it’s another.

All the things the world

we’ve shaped pushes us to be,

what’s the harm in being a lover?

 

“But you can’t be this way,

that’s not what we wanted…”

I know,

you wanted me to stay dormant

become an informant when things

broke your illusions;

not stopping to think of

your intrusions

or the depth of my confusions

after you continuously

tried to burry me…

not knowing ideas of

hope

courage and love

would be enough to carry me

up

out

far into the

unknown.

 

It’s there, I lost

your ill will

to kill my still,

beating heart;

heard the true beat of

my iambic flow art.

No, I can’t give it up…

This is just the start.

 

Imperfect,

most definitely;

also effectively

perceptive in

retrospective

reception.

Like I’m in

a whole new dimension.

 

Unheard of,

out of this world;

“interesting specimen…”

I’m just me,

true O.G.

an

Organized Gentlemen.

 

I’m not perfect,

nor do I ever want you to be;

we’re spiritual beings having

a human experience

put simply.

 

-Gustavo Lomas

 

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